Psychopomp and Circumstance
by Sophie Myst
Summary: Amelia experiences a series of dreams that will change everything. AH/AU. Rated M for mature themes and concepts. One-shot.


I sat my on my couch and used the remote to flip through all 200 channels on my television. Again.

News. QVC. Movie stations that I didn't subscribe to. Sports channels that I had little to no interest in; I'd watch soccer if it was on, but all I could find was football. Music channels that didn't actually play music.

Le sigh. A sharp pain in my hand brought my attention back to my lap, where my cat had decided to chew on my fingers.

"Forgive me, o gracious feline overlord. 'Twas not my intention to cease with the scritches."

I tickled Bob under his chin, and he seemed to forgive me. As long as I kept petting him, we were all good. I knew my place.

When I heard someone chuckle just behind me, my heart started pounding. I lived alone. There shouldn't be anyone in else in my tiny apartment.

"It's okay, Amelia. You're dreaming."

I turned around to check out the owner of the deep voice and was startled to find myself in a train carriage. Okay, so this _was_ a dream. That, or I'd accidentally put the wrong kind of mushrooms on my pizza; it wouldn't be the first time.

I looked over the man with the deep voice; he wasn't wearing a shirt, but he had on the most ridiculous purple flowing pants that were cinched at the ankles. He had a broad red sash tied around his waist, and he was wearing gold earrings.

"This feels awfully real for it to be a dream," I said. It was hard to argue it not being a dream, given that I was now on a train with a dude dressed up as a genie. How often did _that_ happen?

Granted, I'd always had an incredibly vivid dream life. I had a whole set of friends that I only ever saw in dreams. They weren't representations of anyone I knew in my waking life. Sometimes the dreams felt so real, I would wake up wondering if my life in New Orleans wasn't the dream.

"That's because it is real," he said slowly. "In a sense."

"Right. Why should I believe you? Who are you, anyway? And why are you wearing that ridiculous get up?"

The man raised an eyebrow and smirked at me. "I'm a Djinn. The clothes are part of the job. Believe me or don't: that's entirely your call. You could decide to wake up and end this, or you could see it through and get something interesting out of it."

I'd read about Djinn; basically, take all of the stories you've heard about genies, make them a bit darker, a bit more vengeful, and with a far more twisted sense of humor, and that was a Djinn. I wouldn't call them evil, but I wouldn't want to meet one in a dark alley. Hell, I wasn't sure I was entirely happy meeting one in dream. Being fairly up on my folklore, I was pretty suspicious of anyone claiming to be something out of a mythology textbook.

"All right, I'll humor you. You're a Djinn, and this is all real. I've read up on your type; I know better than to make any wishes near you. There's nothing I can wish for that you won't twist into something fucked up."

He laughed. "Blunt. I like that. As tasty a morsel as you would be, I won't be granting you any wishes. I'm just here as a messenger. Have a seat."

The Djinn gestured to a pile of pillows that I hadn't noticed before. Making sure I kept him in my sight, I sat down and folded my legs under me. He sat down a few feet away and leaned back, tucking his arms behind his head.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

I snorted. "Are you kidding? I've read my Greek mythology. I'm no Persephone; I know better than to accept food offered to me in other realms.

He grinned broadly. "Ooh, you _are_ a sly one. I guess I'll have to actually _ask_ you if you want this job."

Job? "You were going to trick me into a job? Really?" I'd had some weird dreams, but this was really off the charts.

"It's not my department, but they're so swamped over there. I'm just doing a friend a favor with a little recruitment. You in?"

Department? Recruitment? "I'm sorry, am I in... _what_?"

He sighed. "None of this is at all fuzzy for you, is it?"

I shook my head and folded my arms.

"Shit," he muttered. "You really are a sharp dreamer. Makes my job harder, but means you're that much better for the position."

"Look, asshole," I said, ignoring his glare, "I know how to wake myself up from a dream. So spill the damn beans or I'm outta here."

Between then and when I woke up, he explained every last detail of the job in question. I gaped and wished it was safe to drink something; my mouth was so dry, it felt like someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls. After what felt like hours, I was overwhelmed. He was asking so much of me, but he seemed to feel that my apparently-rare skill with controlling my own dreams was extremely important to the job in question.

As much as I hated to admit it, I knew someone had to do what he was asking of me. I just wished it didn't have to be me.

There was some consolation in knowing that I wouldn't be tossed completely into the deep end. The first few times, I'd have someone overseeing me. They couldn't be actively there, but they'd be watching; they would only step in if absolutely necessary.

There was only one sticking point for me. "Will I remember them?"

He frowned, then sighed. "Sometimes. Perhaps not always. It can't be helped. There will be mornings where you will wake up and not remember. Then there will be days where you can't forget."

"Will I remember this conversation? I mean, I don't want to start doing this and not be able to remember having agreed to it."

His eyes flashed and he held a bowl out to me. I looked into it: ice cream?

"Nice try. I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"It's deliiiiiiiiicious," he sang.

I snorted. "Will I remember this conversation? I need to know this."

"It's your brain. I can tell you that you won't remember the details of the job until you're past your training. You will wake up remembering parts of our conversation."

"That doesn't make sense," I protested. "How will I be able to perform a job if I can't remember the rules?"

A growl escaped his throat. I could give two shits less how frustrated he was with me. I wasn't going to get suckered into anything.

"You'll remember the details and the rules on a need-to-know basis. They'll be brought back to your memory as you require them, but only in the dreams. Once you're done training, you'll start to bring bits and pieces back with you into your waking life." He snorted. "Not like they'll be of any use to you there."

"I need a minute to think about this," I said.

On the surface, I wasn't sure why I was arguing so much with the Djinn. I liked my more vivid dreams, and I'd often wished I could control how and when they happened. Sometimes I could, but not often enough for my liking.

The job sounded rough. It wasn't something I'd ever really dealt with on any level. At first, it didn't seem like there were any real perks, other than waking up knowing I had done a good deed. It wasn't like they could pay me for it.

Someone had to do it. They were short-staffed. I was qualified; more than, from the sound of it.

"There have to be some perks for this," I said. "I mean, will I get some really good karma? Some eternal reward?"

"I can't really guarantee anything along those lines. You'll be slightly more... protected in your waking life. Can't have you dying on us. Wouldn't that be ironic?"

I snorted. "If I agree to this, will you be my supervisor or something?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "As I said earlier, I'm just a messenger. You'll probably never see me again."

I wasn't about to say it out loud, but that seemed like a substantial perk, right there. We had the kind of chemistry where we'd either be at each others throats all the time, or we'd fall into a dream-bed and have hot, twisted, kinky dream-sex. Or both. While I may have been fairly sexually open, I wasn't about to start adding mythological figures to the list of things I was willing to try; I valued my life, soul, and sanity.

With a sigh, I held out my hand. "Okay. Is there a contract I have to sign or something?"

The Djinn smiled triumphantly, and a fresh bowl of ice cream appeared in his hand. "Make like Persephone, and the deal is sealed."

"Why ice cream?" I asked, taking the bowl from him.

He shrugged. "Why not? It's better than anything you'll get from Ben and Jeremy's."

"Ben and _Jerry's_."

"Same difference. Like I care."

I picked up the spoon and sniffed the ice cream; it didn't really smell like much. Tentatively, I put a spoonful of it up to my mouth. I took a deep breath. This was it. There would be no going back. Putting it into my mouth, I was overwhelmed with the taste of honey and the scent of jasmine. I closed my eyes to savor the sensation of cold, refreshing ice cream on my tongue.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in my living room. Bob was in my lap. The remote was in my hand. I blinked and used my free hand to pinch my other arm. _Ow_.

I could still taste the creamy confection, and I felt thirst like I'd never known before. My cat meowed grumpily at me when I picked him up off my lap and deposited him on the couch. I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water; it tasted better than it usually did, probably because I was so parched. After downing an entire glass, I filled it back up and drank half of that.

I went back into the living room and turned off the television. Bob followed me into the bedroom and curled up on the pillow next to mine, just as he'd done ever since he was a kitten.

Even though I'd already slept a little, I was exhausted. Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, I remembered parts of my first dream from the night before. It all felt a little too surreal to be true. Surely, a Djinn hadn't shown up and offered me a part-time dream job. Shit like that just didn't happen. Hell, I didn't even remember what the job _was_.

As I took my shower and got dressed, I mulled over what little I could recall. None of it seemed to make sense. There was a fuzzy quality that my dreams didn't normally have. It was certainly one of the weirdest dreams I'd ever had, but I couldn't make myself believe a single bit of it.

For a week, my dreams were no more or less bizarre than they ever were. I still had the occasional "brain smoothie" dream: they were just images and thoughts from my subconscious, a way for my brain to process the events of my waking life. I still had my other-realm dreams, with my other set of friends and the strange stores that sold books and albums that writers and composers hadn't lived long enough to create.

Then shit got weird, and I mean weird in the sense of _proper fucked_.

* * *

I'd gone to bed at an early hour for me; I hadn't been tired, but something made me feel like I needed to sleep. It was the oddest sensation. I chalked it up to being overworked from the shop. My boss, Octavia, had me doing inventory for most of the week. As much as I loved the little occult shop where I'd been working since getting out of high school, my boss could be a real hard-ass sometimes. She was a sweetheart until you pissed her off. Or until inventory week. Ugh.

I crawled into bed and was out cold within minutes.

Next thing I knew, I was walking through a forest. The sunlight was coming through the trees, and there was a thick cushion of pine needles under my bare feet; it should have felt prickly, but it felt more like I was walking on a soft pillow. Although I couldn't see any flowers, the scent of jasmine hung heavy in the air.

I came up to a clearing and found a little boy standing there, looking confused.

"Hey sweetie," I said. "Whatcha doing out in the woods?"

"I don't know where I am. Can you help me?"

I walked closer to him and hunkered down to look him in the eye. "I can try. Do you know where you're going?"

He nodded. "I don't want to go alone."

"Well, I can keep you company and make sure you don't get lost, but I can't go the entire way with you."

The little boy pouted slightly and seemed to think about it. "Okay," he said eventually.

I stood up and held my hand out to him. He took it, and we started walking. Since he knew where he was going, I followed his lead. We walked through the forest, quietly at first. I was content to just walk with him, but he seemed to want to chat.

"What's your name?"

"My name's Amelia. What's yours?"

"I'm Teddy," he said proudly. "Like the bear."

"Do you like bears?"

He nodded happily. "Bears live in the woods. My mom says they eat honey, but I saw on TV that they eat bugs and grubs. Ewwwwwww."

I grinned. "You're a smart boy, Teddy. How old are you?" After asking that, I felt a sharp pang; _don't ask that again_, came the thought in my head. I looked around, confused; it hadn't been my own internal voice, but there was no one else around.

"I was five," Teddy said. He didn't seem upset by the question, but his answer disturbed me. I couldn't figure out why. It felt like I shouldn't be asking him questions, so I decided to stay quiet unless he asked me something. I was relieved when he seemed interested in the woods around us more than in any further conversation.

A short time later, we could see the edge of the forest. The sunlight was so much brighter than the shade we we'd been walking through; I couldn't see at all past the treeline. I felt some trepidation; somehow, I knew I couldn't walk with him anymore.

Teddy looked up at me and smiled. "Thanks, 'Meelia. I wasn't so scared, walking with you."

"You know there's nothing to fear out there, right?"

He nodded. "I'll be okay, now. My mommy said I could see grandpa again. Do you think he's waiting for me?"

It all hit me then. I knew what this was. I gulped and felt a tight pain in my throat. "I don't know, sweetie. He might be. There's only one way to find out."

With a hopeful grin, he let go of my hand and sprinted towards the light. I stood there, watching him; as much as my eyes stung, I wouldn't let a single tear fall. Teddy didn't look back. Not once. Why should he? He was headed somewhere so much better.

* * *

I woke up with a headache, like I'd fallen asleep crying. I couldn't remember much, but I knew I'd had some whopper of a dream. Something about walking through a forest...? Fuck if I knew.

Bob glared at me when I switched on the lamp that sat on my nightstand. I glared right back, squinting in the light.

There was no going back to bed, not with this headache. I staggered into my bathroom and got out the bottle of Excedrin. I fished two capsules out of the bottle before putting it back into the medicine chest. I scooped some water straight from the tap into my mouth, I tilted my head back and dropped the capsules in. After swallowing, my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't had much of a dinner.

The clock on my nightstand read 3:19am. Ugh. If it had been closer to my wake-up time, I could have just stayed up and fixed myself a monster breakfast. With this much time between now and the alarm of doom, I really shouldn't have more than a snack.

I trudged into the kitchen and turned on the lights. I poked my head into the freezer. No ice cream; I'd gone through more ice cream in the last week than was probably healthy. Since I didn't normally eat it all that often, I figured it was some kind of hormonal thing. There was nothing interesting in the fridge. I checked the cabinets where I kept crackers and cookies. When my eyes fell on a box of Teddy Grahams, I flinched.

_What the hell?_

Fuck this weird mess. I grabbed a bowl and fixed myself some cereal. Bob came in to keep me company, and I let him steal the last few drops of milk when I was done. Stomach and kitty satisfied, I put my bowl in the sink and went back to bed.

* * *

I woke up the next morning feeling quite well-rested. I couldn't recall having dreamed at all, the second time around, but it was one of the most refreshing sleeps I'd had in a while. That first dream teased and haunted me all day. It felt like there was something important about it, something I needed to know.

Octavia could tell I was frustrated, but I think she figured it was related to the inventory we were still doing. We stayed out of each others hair that day. By the time the shop closed, I was only an hour or two from being completely done with the whole mess. The two of us stayed late and got it finished. She was oddly quiet, but I was grateful. My brains felt scrambled; it was very disorienting.

After work, I went to one of my favorite cafes for some coffee and beignets. One of my friends happened to be there, so Rasul and I chatted for an hour or two. We had a lot to catch up on; I hadn't seen him for a while. Apparently he'd dropped off the radar because he'd started dating a girl named Sophie-Anne. I didn't know her well, but I'd heard about her; we had some mutual friends. They'd met in the building where they both worked; I had no idea what she did, but Rasul was one of the building's security guards. She seemed to make my friend happy; that was all I cared about.

We hung out in the cafe, chatting and people-watching. Occasionally, someone that one or both of us knew would stop by and hang out for a few minutes. We'd trade the latest gossip over coffee, and then they'd be on their way. That was just how our circle of acquaintances got down. Some nights I would wander and chat with the folks I knew, other nights I would sit somewhere and let them come to me, just as Rasul and I were doing. I'd met some really interesting people that way, through the friends and acquaintances I already had.

It surprised me when one of the waiters let us know that they were closing up for the night; we hadn't been paying attention to the time. Rasul offered to walk me home, and I let him. I lived in a fairly good neighborhood, but it was New Orleans. There was no reason to take chances. We got me home without incident, but Bob was irritated with me for having been gone all day. He was a persnickety old feline.

I bribed my way back into my cat's good graces when I made myself a late-night tuna sandwich; I drained all of the tuna juice from the tin and gave it to him in a little bowl.

Tired but not really comfortable with the idea of sleeping, I grabbed a book and curled up on the couch. After a chapter or two, my eyelids started getting heavy. No fair: I was just getting to the hot, sexy bits of the book. Somewhere between a passionate kiss and a well-endowed Viking, I nodded off.

* * *

I was standing on the deck of a rather nice boat. Looking around, I decided it was more of a yacht. Fancy.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

I spun around and saw a rather haughty woman staring down her nose at me. She was decked out in the latest fashions. Who the hell wears high heels on a boat? Was this woman nuts?

"Hi," I said, not really knowing how to answer her question. "My name's Amelia."

She raised an eyebrow and took a sip from the martini glass in her hand. "That's not what I asked you."

I laughed. I was about to tell her that I didn't have an answer for her, but then it just came flowing out of my mouth. "I'm your guide. I'm here to make sure you get home safely."

The woman sniffed and gave me another up and down look. "You don't look like a sailor. Are you sure you know what you're doing? This is an expensive boat."

Once again, the answer came unexpectedly from my lips. "I've done this before. The boat will steer itself. I'm just here to make sure you don't let lost."

The boat didn't seem to need my help. I knew somehow that we were the only two people on board. In any case, we were floating steadily downstream on a large river. I could see quite far down the river; it seemed to open up to a pretty big lake. In the middle of the lake, there seemed to be an island. Oddly enough, I could only see a single pier and a little bit of the land it was connected to.

"Looks like that's where you're headed," I said, trying to be cheerful.

She snorted. "I don't _do_ wildlife. Take me back to the city. I have important things waiting for me back there."

I frowned; this wasn't how it was supposed to go. "Look, I'm sorry. You can't go back there. It's time to go somewhere else."

"What good are you? Can you at least tell me where I'm going?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "I don't know where you're going, or what's waiting for you. I just know you can't go back."

She drained the last of her drink and tossed the glass overboard. As I watched, a fresh beverage appeared in her hand. She looked as surprised as I felt.

"That's handy, at least." She hummed slightly as she took another sip. "Do you know how I even got here? Last thing I remember... Shit. I can't remember where I was last."

Once again, I heard a strange voice in my head: _she doesn't know; you have to tell her._

_Tell her what?_ I wondered.

A slew of images overwhelmed me: a mangled car; cherry-red lights flashing through the night; a disconnected wailing; a series of tubes; a frantic team of people working over a table; and finally, a single high-pitched whine that was cut off when someone flicked a switch.

I gasped and sank to my knees. No. That wasn't right. She looked older than me, but she was still so young. Too young. That wasn't _fair_.

_Life may not be fair, but death doesn't discriminate: it comes for us all, in our own time. When you agreed to do this, you knew exactly what you were getting into. You can't back out now. Be strong: we have you, and we are _with_ you._

I hated that voice. Didn't want it to be right. Somehow, I had to see this through.

The woman didn't seem to notice the minor breakdown I'd had. Perhaps she hadn't been allowed to see it. I stood back up on shaky legs and took a deep breath. We were only a few minutes away from the pier. I had to do this, and soon.

"Miss," I said, getting her attention again. "I'm really sorry. You can't go back. You have to move on now."

"I don't take orders from the _help_. And I'm not stepping a single toe off of this boat until you tell me why I'm even here."

Trying to keep my voice soft and gentle, I phrased it as best as I could. "I think there was... an accident."

"Yes, that's what I've been trying to tell you. I'm not supposed to be here."

"No, you are supposed to be here _because_ there was an accident."

"Are you intentionally talking nonsense? How many martinis have I had?"

I chuckled, in spite of the situation. "That's only your second, as far as I know. I think you're here because you're dead."

Completely unexpectedly, she burst out into laughter. "You're trying to tell me that this is the afterlife? This doesn't look like hell, and I'm sure as shit not getting into heaven."

Once again, I responded without knowing where the words were coming from. "No; I don't even know if heaven or hell exists. I can't tell you where you're going. _This_ is the space between life and death."

She narrowed her eyes at me. "So you're not marooning me on some island in the middle of a lake?"

I shook my head. "That's just another step of the journey."

There was a small thump as the boat nudged up against the pier. The woman looked at me skeptically. "How do I know this isn't all a bad dream?"

"Even if you don't want to admit it, I think you know what this really is."

She sighed and nodded. "You sure we can't hijack this thing and get me back? There's so much more I wanted to do."

What I really wanted to do was yell at her; I couldn't change the past. I couldn't undo what had been done. That wasn't my job. I was just here to make sure she didn't get lost. Instead, I smiled at her, saying nothing.

"Well," she said with a sigh, "Can you at least tell _bzzzzzbzzzzbzz_ that I said goodbye?"

I blinked; her lips had moved, but it was like there was static. "What?"

"_Bzzzzzbzzzzbzz. _My _bzzzzrrrzzzzzrrrbrzzzz._ Tell him I said goodbye._"_

Shit. I wasn't supposed to know. I wasn't supposed to pass along any messages. I couldn't. Should I lie? As I contemplated my options, the woman lost patience with me.

"Whatever. Bored now. I'm outta here. Thanks for your help, I _guess_."

With that, she stepped out of the boat and onto the pier. Without a single glance back, she walked up the path and disappeared from my view.

* * *

I woke up to the feeling of something banging against my head. Bob. He was headbutting my nose, purring like a motorboat.

... like a boat. I closed my eyes and rubbed them gently. I had a vague recollection of the dream I'd just had. I had been arguing with a woman? What was _that_ all about?

I tossed the book I'd been reading onto the coffee table and stood up, taking Bob with me. Even after my little nap, I was exhausted. Without even bothering to get into my jammies, I flopped down onto my bed and passed out.

That was the pattern of my nights for the next week or so; I would doze off early, wake up with only the foggiest idea of what I'd been dreaming about, and then fall back into a dreamless sleep. The first sleep would leave me feeling unsettled, sometimes aching in a way I couldn't fathom, but the second sleep always made me feel better.

And then, for no reason I could figure, I went back to my normal style of dreams. The friends I had in my dreams were all excited to see me, saying they'd heard about my new part-time job. I had no idea what they were talking about, but let them congratulate me anyway.

My waking life went on as it always had. I spent time with my friends; I hadn't told them about any of my dreams, but I'd never really told anyone about that kind of thing. Life at the store was no different, even though Octavia would shoot me these strange sidelong glances from time to time. I never asked her about that; she was an odd bird. A wise one, but odd nonetheless. If she had something she wanted me to know, she'd tell me.

A month later, I had all but forgotten about the strange, fuzzy dreams that I couldn't remember. Then, one night, everything changed.

* * *

I looked around. I was sitting on a really comfortable couch, but I had no idea where I was. It was a fairly nice house; without knowing exactly how, I could tell it was quite large.

A girl about my age walked into the room and smiled at me. "You must be Amelia! I heard you'd be stopping by tonight."

"You know me? Who are you?"

She grinned and ran a hand through her hair. "Sorry, I forget how disorienting it can be the first time you get here. I'm Claudine. You're in the dorms."

"Uh. Dorms?" Any minute now, this would all start making sense.

"Yeah. It's where all of us full-timers live. Gotta stay somewhere, right? We're kind of like firemen - at least, I think that's what you call them. We all stay here and we're on-call for when we need to help someone cross over."

She reached out for my hand; when I took it, she pulled me up and led me into another room. It looked like a more communal hang out area, and there were a bunch of folks there. They were all chatting amicably, but when they saw me and Claudine, they quieted down; some of them smiled, some of them waved.

"Hey guys, this is Amelia, one of the dream-workers. Niall told me she'd be stopping by; I figured I'd show her around. I've got my frog, in case any of you need to get a hold of me."

There was a general chorus of _okay_s and _sure thing_s, and with another wave, Claudine was leading me through another part of the house.

"What did you mean about a frog?" I asked. It was just too weird to not ask about.

"Oh! That's something I can show you!" She reached into a bag that was tied to one of the belt loops on her jeans and pulled out a small orange frog. "This is my spirit frog. I made him myself. All of us full-timers have one; they're kind of like... what do you call them... bah. I forget the waking terms. We can use them to talk long-distance. They keep us from getting lost. They're really useful for a lot of little things."

I blinked. Aside from being orange, it looked like a fairly normal frog. As I stared at it, it let out a high pitched squeak.

"Pff, don't mind him; he's kind of cranky today," Claudine said to me. Turning to the frog, she spoke again. "Yeah, I know. Gotta show the new girl around, first." With that, she popped the frog back into its pouch.

I figured I might as well stop waiting for this to make sense. That clearly wasn't going to be happening _any_ time soon.

We walked into a large, homey-looking kitchen. Claudine directed me to sit at the table, then proceeded to start fussing with some different containers on the counter.

"I know this is really confusing and weird for you right now, and I'm really sorry. Let me just get you some tea. It'll help."

Tea. Right. Maybe she could lace it with some whiskey?

Within minutes, Claudine placed a steaming mug of purple liquid in front of me. Apparently tea was purple in this dream. Okay. I'd had weirder experiences in dreams.

Just as I was about to take a sip, I paused. I had a vague memory of eating something in a dream, and there was something important about that. Should I really be drinking this? I set the tea back down.

"Oh, right! I forgot. Silly me," Claudine said. "No, honey, that's not like the ice cream. It's okay, I swear. It'll give you your memories back."

"What memories?"

She sighed. "A while back - could be months, could be years; time works differently, here – a messenger recruited you for some dream-work. You've been a substitute psychopomp for a while now, but you were in training, so we couldn't let you remember what you were doing until you passed all the tests. And you did! We're so proud of you. You did _so_ well." she reached across the table and squeezed my hand affectionately.

My mind was reeling. "Psycho-what?"

"Psychopomp. It's a weird word, I know. Especially in English. Basically, when people die, we escort their souls as they pass through the space between."

_The space between_. Something about that seemed familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. "What, like a grim reaper? You're kidding, right?"

She laughed; a light, tinkling sound. "We don't choose who dies. We just guide them once they've left their bodies. Death isn't a single event; it's a multi-step process. The reapers cull the souls, we guide them to... well, we guide them to the next step."

"What's the next step?"

She gave me an apologetic smile. "Sorry. No spoilers. I can't tell you what comes after what we do. I don't even know all of it. Oh sure, I've heard some rumors and stories, but there's only one way to find out."

My eyes went wide. "Wait, does that mean you can die, too?"

She shrugged. "Eventually I'll move on; I might get promoted, I might retire. Either way, I'll find out more then."

I frowned as a thought occurred to me. "What about when I die? Will I... come here? Or...?"

Again, she gave me a slightly crooked smile. "Spoilers, sorry. You can't know until it happens. You should drink your tea before it gets cold."

I looked down at the mug of steaming purple liquid. As odd as it looked, it did smell good. "What will happen when I drink this?"

"You'll remember your training in full. It might be rough as the memories start to trickle in, but I'll be here to help you through it."

"What if I don't drink it?"

She sighed. "If you don't drink it, you'll wake up and you won't remember any of this. You'll never do this kind of dream-work again. You will live out the rest of your natural life, going on exactly as you did before all of this started. It is entirely your choice, but I hope you choose to drink it. We need all the help we can get, and you're good at what we do. In our last team meeting, Niall referred to you as a prodigy."

She'd said that last bit with a reverent tone. "Who's Niall?"

"Hmn. I guess you could call him our supervisor. He's a really nice guy; he leaves us be unless we _really_ fuck up, but he's easy to get a hold of if we have questions or need help with anything. He's also our liaison with the groups who work on either side of us: the reapers and the... well, the other guys."

As interesting as that might be, that wasn't going to help me figure anything out about the choice I had to make. Granted, if the head honcho had been an asshole, that might have had some impact on the decision.

"Okay," I said tentatively, wanting to make sure I understood everything, "So... I can drink this, get my dream memories back, and for the rest of my life, I'll be one of these psychopomp things?"

She nodded.

"And if I don't drink it, I'll wake up, without remembering any of this, and go back to my normal life?"

Again, she nodded. "Yep. That's the way it goes."

"If I don't drink it, will I still be able to see my dream-friends?"

"You can see them in your free time, sure. Not while you're working, though. Or while you're awake, but you already knew that."

I nodded and stared at the tea. It wasn't going to give me any of the answers I needed. Not until I drank it, anyway.

Could I do this? Could I live a normal life while dreaming about guiding souls through one step of the death process? I knew it would affect me in ways I that wouldn't occur to me until I experienced them; there was no way to know ahead of time how that would go. It could really fuck with me, or it could give me a different outlook on life.

With a flash of insight, I realized that how I let it affect me was another choice. That choice wouldn't be a one-off, wouldn't be a one-time deal. I'd have to make it on a regular basis.

But really, wasn't life already like that, even without _this_?

Death was an inevitability. Life was for the living, and someone had to help maintain the boundaries between the two. I had no illusions that I would play any major part in that. I was a substitute, a part-time worker.

"One last question, Claudine: if I don't drink this, will it have any impact on what happens to me after I die?"

She grinned. "It won't be a black mark on your permanent record, if that's what you're asking. When you die, your death will be just like that of anyone else."

"And you can't tell me what'll happen after I die, if I choose to drink it."

"Correct."

Aw, what the hell.

I took a breath, picked up the mug, and took a healthy sip. It was like nothing I had ever tasted before. I didn't even have words for it. It carried more emotion than flavor.

As I swallowed, I remembered.

I remembered everything. Everyone. Teddy, the little boy who'd died of leukemia. The woman on the boat who had died in a car crash. The geek who hadn't wanted to leave the bridge of the starship that took him where no _living_ man had gone before. The middle aged man who tried to debate with me as if death was a philosophical exercise, not the reality that was staring him in the face. The old woman who smiled happily and talked of nothing but the husband she couldn't wait to see again.

I remembered all of them, and it hurt, even though I inexplicably _knew_ with every fiber of my being that they were in a better place.

I felt Claudine's arms around me. She held me as I cried, hummed softly to me as the memories battered at my mind. She murmured how proud she was of me, how well I was doing. Told me it was all going to be okay.

Somehow, I knew she was right.

* * *

Disclaimer: Most of the characters contained in this story are property of Charlaine Harris. I don't own them; I just like to play with them a bit.


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